


I have simply wanted an object to crave

by crookedspoon



Series: Exchange Fics [77]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: For Science!, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, POV Sephiroth, Power Imbalance, Prostate Milking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:49:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24827857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: "You're a growing boy," Hojo explains. "Your body is undergoing rapid changes. I have to monitor you closely."
Relationships: Hojo/Sephiroth (Compilation of FFVII)
Series: Exchange Fics [77]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/51139
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	I have simply wanted an object to crave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jikatabi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jikatabi/gifts).



> Shoutout to my beta for the support and encouragement and for the helpful feedback throughout the writing of this!

Sephiroth was wrong to think he could get away with this. He should have known Hojo would find out sooner or later.

Hojo always does.

This unscheduled examination is proof enough.

"You're a growing boy," he explains. "Your body is undergoing rapid changes. I have to monitor you closely."

For what, he doesn't say.

Sephiroth stays quiet, the way he's learned to be. First, there are the blood tests, the monitoring of his heart rate and brain waves, the establishing of a baseline against which all else will be measured. The mako injections come after.

Not today, though. Today, there are no injections. This is an unscheduled examination, after all. 

"I see you've grown quite close to that Shinra boy," Hojo says, almost conversationally.

The thing with Hojo, however, is that he doesn't make conversation. True to his nature as a scientist, every word is calculated, designed to make Sephiroth feel small, to remind him of his place in the world: under Hojo's thumb.

Sephiroth should be used to them by now, the cruel words that Hojo utters to make him feel that way, and he is, in a way, but at the same time, being used to them doesn't cancel out the effect they have on him.

A surge of heat washes over him from head to toe and his heart rate picks up. There's a lump in his throat the size of an oyster. He feels the same way he did when he was still a child, up past his bedtime and caught sneaking around the lab – to walk among nightmares instead of waiting under the covers for them to visit. Small and afraid, like he's done something that's not allowed, although no one has ever told him to stay in his room until after the fact. 

No one has ever told him to stay away from Rufus Shinra, either.

Yet when they were together, the thrill of the forbidden tickled Sephiroth's nerve endings. Rufus must have felt it, too, because he was all too willing to let himself be tugged behind the tanks of Hojo's grisly specimens. Even though he was back where he spent an entire childhood in confinement, Sephiroth has never felt so free.

Yet there is a price for that freedom.

"Tell me how close," Hojo says. He's adjusting the wires at Sephiroth's temple, leaning close, so close, as though he could glean the answers through mere examination.

"Sir?" 

Hojo runs his fingers over Sephiroth's hair, the twisted smile on his face growing large and sharp, and the side of his damp palm brushes Sephiroth's cheek. He's free with his touches, whether he's alone with Sephiroth or has his assistants near, as though he intends his touches to be viewed as displays of affection. To Sephiroth, they're nothing more than casual acts of ownership, ones that never fail to make his skin crawl.

His tone feigns interest, yet no affection.

"Have you kissed? Did you let him touch you? Did _you_ touch _him?"_

Sephiroth feels hot. Scrutinised. As if Hojo can extract the memories of hands in his hair and on his skin, can trace in them the patterns Sephiroth would have wanted them to prescribe. He has no idea what answer Hojo is looking for, or if he'll be punished for getting it wrong. Maybe the interest is real, maybe there's a reason for all this.

Whatever it is, there's no point in denying everything outright. Not with the machines measuring every change within him.

"We shared a kiss, that's all."

His cheeks burn hotter. They had not sworn each other to secrecy, yet disclosing this to Hojo still felt like a betrayal. Sephiroth had wanted it to be something no one else knew about, something that was theirs alone – that was _his_ alone, kept safely out of Hojo's reach.

Shame twists its roots into Sephiroth: he wasn't able to keep it safe after all; he didn't even try.

"Did it make you feel anything?"

 _Curiosity confusion want anger sadness fear_ – a world of things he's never felt in this way before – and a need for something he had no name for, a need so strong and urgent he could hardly understand where it had come from or what it meant.

Sephiroth swallows. "Yes."

"Did you want there to be more?" Hojo continues prying. Continues touching. He's sweeping a lock of hair over Sephiroth's shoulder, his hand resting possessively close to the back of his neck.

"More... like what?"

"Don't be stupid, boy." 

Sephiroth flinches and Hojo squeezes his shoulder as if to reassure him. Or maybe he's suppressing the urge to shake Sephiroth into parceling out his answers the way Hojo would prefer.

"Did you want to touch him? Did you want him to touch you?"

Hojo's hand skims the slope of Sephiroth's shoulder, grazes the side of his pectoral, all under the guise of checking the electrodes pasted to his chest. This is nothing new. Hojo has been like this for as long as he can remember. Though this line of questioning makes it somehow more unsettling than usual.

Sephiroth digs his nails into his palms to keep from shaking.

"...Yes," he says faintly.

He's been trying to suppress the memory. It stirs so many uncomfortable emotions he doesn't know how to handle. Yes, he wanted more, and yes, for some reason he wanted to touch and be touched, but the moment he felt a pull at his hair and a light pressure at his waist, he was right back here, strapped to the examination table, poked and prodded and made to feel things he really didn't want to feel, injected with burning needles and hurting all over, and he just couldn't. He didn't sense any malice in Rufus, no intent to break him apart and _examine_ him, but still, he couldn't.

He ran, and he's regretted it ever since.

He wonders if any of this would be happening right now if he'd stayed, if he'd fought through the bad associations and made new ones with Rufus. Not that it's any use wondering that. He's here now, being touched in a way he doesn't want to be touched, expecting to be hurt any moment, and having nowhere to escape to this time.

Hojo keeps asking how Sephiroth would have wanted to be touched, as if any of that mattered. Hojo's hands are all wrong. They're too big, too chapped, too sure in their exploration. Rufus had tried to project confidence, but in the end, he'd been just as nervous as Sephiroth was.

It had been a change from how Hojo and his research assistants usually treat him: like he's nothing more than an object for study, like he only matters in terms of what can be measured about him. 

"Like this?" Hojo asks, mostly to himself. "Or like this?"

He's stroking his thumb over Sephiroth's waist now, eyes on the readouts of the machines, adjusting his caresses based on Sephiroth's reactions, as if mapping out all the spots that make Sephiroth's breath hitch. It's not a pleasant experience by any stretch of the imagination, but Sephiroth lets it happen because it's easier that way. The more he struggles, the longer this is going to take. He has no recourse, anyway. 

So when Hojo snakes his hand around to cup his ass and grope it, Sephiroth just squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fists. He just has to get through this.

"Good," Hojo says under his breath. "Development is as expected for a boy your age."

For a short, hopeful moment, Sephiroth believes that Hojo might finally have all the information he's been looking for. That he'd let Sephiroth leave so he can go to the training room and put this episode out of his mind. 

That moment, however, is over too soon.

He doesn't know if it's cruelty or curiosity that makes Hojo palm Sephiroth's erection through his trousers. Whatever it is, Sephiroth is mortified. This happens sometimes during checkups when he is being handled by a herd of lab technicians who paste electrodes to his skin and perform a multitude of measurements on him. He'll get hot and – worst of all – _hard,_ and he'll wish to Gaia that no one would notice the very noticeable bulge in his pants. No one ever did, or at least they pretended not to. That had been Sephiroth's only saving grace.

Hojo does not afford him the same courtesy, as if it were not in his nature to ignore the things that bring Sephiroth shame. He's a scientist. His calling is to poke and prod and study. So it shouldn't come as a surprise to Sephiroth when Hojo pulls at his zipper, and maybe it doesn't, but it sets him on edge nonetheless. The sound of his fly opening might as well be his nerves tearing at the edges.

"Take them off," Hojo says, impatience evident in his tone.

He had hoped he could have remained a passive player throughout all this, a mere object for study that is asked only to respond without restriction, but not to take an active role in the proceedings.

With burning cheeks and a hole in his chest, Sephiroth does as he is told. He takes off his pants, balancing first on one jittery leg, then the other, worrying his knees might buckle if he stopped concentrating on the process for even a second. Once they're in his hands, like shed snakeskin, he looks at them for a moment as if unsure what to do next. Everything is better than acknowledging that he's fully naked now, with nothing but his hair shielding him from Hojo's sharp gaze. Not that it does more than obscure his face, but at least he doesn't have to see Hojo anymore. Forcing his fingers to unclench, he folds the trousers and places them on the examination table behind him, hyperaware of the cool lab air stirring against his now exposed flesh. 

He notices that Hojo alternates between leering at him and scribbling down notes onto a clipboard. Something inside Sephiroth's chest constricts, but he tries not to cower. He bows his head forward, hoping his hair would fall from his shoulders so he could hide behind it. His skin jumps when Hojo grabs his wrist to drag him closer, nearly making him stumble onto his lap.

Hojo's clipboard clatters to the floor and Sephiroth hunches his shoulders, expecting Hojo to cuff him for knocking it off his knees. But Hojo doesn't cuff him, nor does he pick it up. Sephiroth wonders if he's expected to do that for him. In his anxious tension there's this desperate need to please that makes him _want_ to pick it up, but he can't move. His limbs are stiff, his muscles locked, and his feet seem to have frozen to the cold floor. 

"Come here," Hojo all but snaps and Sephiroth flinches again, though not at his tone.

No. He flinched because Hojo wrapped his fingers around Sephiroth's shrinking erection, and none too gently. Sephiroth's eyes pop.

Hojo directs him closer, to stand between his spread thighs, and Sephiroth can only stare in horror as he's being handled like a milk animal. A chill runs through him.

"Hold this." 

Something hard digs into the palm of his right hand and when he looks down, Hojo has deposited a small plastic container into it. Sephiroth's fingers close around it as memories bubble up from some deliberately repressed place he'd rather not remember. The first time he'd been given such a container was shortly after his voice broke. The assistant on duty that day had him ejaculate into it for further study. It was one of the more awkward moments in his life, although in retrospect he'd much prefer to be there again.

Anywhere but here.

Sephiroth nearly makes a high-pitched sound when Hojo begins stroking him. It evokes in him the same feeling as nails on a chalkboard.

"I—I can do it myself," he suggests feebly and cringes to hear how shrill his voice sounds.

"Nonsense, boy." Hojo slaps his hands away. He must really enjoy tormenting Sephiroth like this. "You don't know how. Just hold still and don't speak up again."

Sephiroth swallows and scrunches his eyes again. His arms are trembling by his side. Just a little longer. Hojo would be done soon and then this is all going to be over.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he tries to forget Hojo's fingers and the sick spirals of heat that are stirring at the base of his spine. But Hojo makes it so, so difficult. The way he's squeezing Sephiroth's sensitive skin is so foreign to Sephiroth that he can't help but be startled back to awareness.

Hojo's other hand slides between Sephiroth's thighs to cup his testicles. He rolls them around on his palm, weighing them and making noncommittal noises.

Sephiroth has no idea what any of this means. Whether his "development" is on track or not, whether Hojo needs to do more tests or not. Even though the last thing he wants is to listen to Hojo drone on about his research – or rather, how he's too stupid to understand any of it – he still somehow wishes Hojo would talk to him more. Take the time to explain what it is he's measuring and why. To reassure Sephiroth that he's doing fine. Or if he's not, to relay that information to him as well. Maybe then he wouldn't have to feel so wrong about all this.

If Hojo had allowed Sephiroth to take care of the semen samples, they could have been done with this already and Sephiroth could be scrubbing himself down to get rid of the lingering feeling of Hojo's fingers on his skin.

But Hojo is still tugging at Sephiroth's erection, still making those weird noises, and still prodding him between his thighs. He's moved on from rolling his testicles across his palms and squeezing them from all sides to probing the skin behind his scrotum. Sephiroth finds it increasingly more difficult not to make any desperate sounds. It's like sparks of electricity shoot up from the spots Hojo touches, zipping straight to the tip of his erection and tugging at it from the inside.

The strange mixture of sensations is overwhelming him to the point where he almost loses himself in them. That is, until all of it stops for a moment and he comes to a reeling halt. He wanted Hojo to stop touching him, but now that he did, he's almost frantic enough to pick up where Hojo left off. But not here. No, never here.

He's about to work up the nerve to ask whether they're finally done when Hojo resumes stroking him. Sephiroth sucks in a sharp breath. It's almost as though he's more sensitive than before.

Hojo snakes his other hand between Sephiroth's legs again and nudges them farther apart. This time, Sephiroth's breath stops. Something slick and cool circles the rim of his anus. Wide-eyed, Sephiroth stares at Hojo and he has just enough time to register the twist of Hojo's lips before his finger breaches him.

Sephiroth's muscles lock up so hard he feels like a block of cement.

"Relax, boy," Hojo chides and gives his erection a sharp tug, as if that would help.

Sephiroth's hair sways gently as he shakes his head. He can't. How can he relax when there's a finger inside him?

Hojo exhales an exasperated breath.

"You can lie down if you prefer."

He nods towards the examination table at Sephiroth's back, although his tone strongly suggests that he would rather Sephiroth stayed where he is.

Sephiroth opens his mouth to speak, but his throat is so tight no sound comes out. He shakes his head instead.

"Good. We're almost done."

Relief floods Sephiroth at those words and he does manage to relax enough for Hojo to cease his grumbling. For some reason, that only makes it worse. 

Hojo rubs his finger deeper and Sephiroth realises he must be probing for something because his body is telling him Hojo is getting closer. A strange mixture of dread and exhilaration fills him, heart beating in explosive pulses, sweat running in rivulets down his chest and spine.

The moment Hojo finds the spot, Sephiroth's vision whites out for a second. A powerful surge of pleasure sweeps through him. Pleasure, but with an underlying current of panic. He's never felt anything like it before, and his legs are quaking so hard they might give out soon. 

Worst of all is that he finds himself leaking from the tip of his shaft. As he looks down, his damp hair obscures most of his vision, but it's enough to make out that Hojo is no longer stroking his erection, but rather holding the plastic cup to it. With Sephiroth's fingers still clamped around it, because he never let go.

His skin is tingling. A translucent fluid with a bluish-white sheen is pouring out of him and into the cup. It's flowing as if there's no end to it and Sephiroth can only stare in confusion. Something inside him is coming to a point, like a keen wail or some other high-pitched sound, and he feels ill-equipped to handle the energy that comes with it.

He floats higher on short, sharp gasps, towards that point – his entire body is aching towards it. He's close, so close he can almost feel the heat at his fingertips, so close he is breaking. He can no longer keep his spine upright. He tilts forward, bracing himself against Hojo's shoulders, arms quivering and lungs straining, unable to expand within the tight confines of his clenching chest.

Hojo chuckles darkly.

"You like being touched like this?" he asks and strokes the little nub that has become the centre of Sephiroth's world with more vigour.

Sephiroth wants to reply but he did not understand the question. All he understands is the need that is carved in his bones.

With burning thighs, he pushes himself back on Hojo's finger, needing him deeper, needing more friction, needing _more,_ period. And as if Hojo can read his mind, he's answering his prayers. 

A second finger nudges at Sephiroth's hole, wiggling its way inside, and that's all it takes for Sephiroth to throw his head back and come.

He whites out as his release crashes over him. Static fills his head. 

When he comes to, he is slumped on the examination table, with not even so much as a blanket to cover his nakedness or ward off the chill of the lab. His heart is still throbbing, his stomach still queasy, and his skin feels tacky with dried sweat. 

Quick, mechanical tapping is coming from across the room. Sephiroth brushes his hair aside to see Hojo sitting at a computer terminal, most likely documenting his impressions while they're still fresh. His clipboard is next to him on the table, but the plastic cup is nowhere in sight. He must have stored it somewhere already.

"You can go," Hojo says without turning from the screens.

Sephiroth nods vaguely and slowly lifts himself up. That turns out to be a mistake. All of a sudden, he can feel the phantom presence of Hojo's finger inside him and his stomach knots itself tighter. Shame thrums beneath his skin.

He slips off the table as quietly as he can, head down, trying to become small and invisible. He just wants to be out of here and forget any of this ever happened. Having done up his trousers, he is about to slink out of the examination room when Hojo addresses him again.

"We will continue to monitor your situation while you associate with the Shinra boy." Sephiroth stands glued by the door and watches Hojo advance towards him, hands clasped behind his back. "Or anyone else, for that matter. It is valuable research." 

Hojo smiles and brushes Sephiroth's hair away from his forehead.

"Just so you know."

Sephiroth is reeling. His head is vast in its emptiness, and his mouth is dry, like the desert surrounding Midgar. It's like he wants to say something but has forgotten what words are.

So he just jerks his head in a quick nod and ducks out of the room, to stumble into the nearest bathroom. His knees collapse onto the tiled floor. All he heard just now was that he should stop interacting with anyone, unless he wants Hojo to put him through the same procedure once more. The thing is, how could Sephiroth even talk to Rufus again after what happened? Instead of painful experiments that haunt his nightmares, he'll think of Hojo's hands mapping his skin, stroking his genitals, invading his body.

Twisting his hair hard around one hand, he spews acid into the nearest toilet bowl.

He has to face it: he will never have normal relationships now. Hojo has made sure of that.


End file.
